One of my first experiences with Nita’s Italian side of the family was during Thanksgiving while we were engaged. She said to me, “They are very close, loud, and there’s lots of food. It can be quite overwhelming.” So, being someone who was in team sports, and someone who presented in front of lots of customers, and finally being Hispanic, I figured this will be easy. So here we go, off to Houston and we get to the house and there are a lot of people and way more food than a most third world countries have in a year. There were three generations of Italians and a priest. The extended family was awesome and I began attempting to learn and memorize everyone’s name, side of the family, and which boat they came over on. I’m kidding on the boat thing, but Nita is three generations from the Sicily. One of Nita’s cousins came up and trying to be sweet said, “Hey Marco what do you think about all these Italians?” The conversations get quieter and just like in the Sure Thing everyone hears me say, “I think they’re great, Italians are basically the Mexicans of Europe.” In a movie, this is where the sound effects guy would scratch a needle across the record and everyone would immediately stop talking and stare at the new guy like he’d just peed the floor.
I then proceed to explain that, like Italians, Mexicans were mostly Catholic, family oriented, loud, and if any of them had ever been to a tamalada (tamale making party) they’d know about food. (Nice save)! In the years that have gone by I’ve grown to love them like my own family (more in some cases) and think they’ve grown to love me as well.
Sure there are some differences, and some of them are political. You have to remember that many of the Italians either lived through or were close to the Mussolini Fascist regime, but kind of started out as the leaders of the world (Roman Empire in case any of you forgot about that portion). Mexicans were ruled mostly the Spaniards, French, and now drug lords, but they too were an amazing civilization and even invented the zero (Aztecs and Mayans). We both love Oregano. Tortillas vs. Bread, can’t we have both? Cheeses are a little different, and spicy is in the mouth of the beholder. For example, spicy for Italians is whether or not to have gelato or a drink of water between sips of wine. Spicy for Mexicans is whether to put the toilet paper in the freezer or just sit on an helado (ice cream). I’d like to focus on the similarities.
Two weeks ago, Connor was the ring bearer in my cousin’s wedding. We were invited to the rehearsal dinner and the reception. This week Nita’s aunt had a birthday and the whole family came down for a really nice dinner and then a fun little brunch/lunch. I thoroughly enjoyed both sets of events. Connor got to meet some of his cousins and had a blast with all the sweets. The funny thing is Nita is deathly afraid of Connor getting teased about his hair. She doesn’t make things easier by putting so much sunscreen on him that he looks like Casper the ghost with red eyebrows. But in both family gatherings the kids have been wonderful. They all run and play with him and chased him around and were tickled that one of their cousins didn’t have black hair. The cousins (both sides) adore him and can’t get enough of Josephine’s chunky legs and puffy cheeks. (Originally I used fat, but Nita thinks I’m going to give her a complex). Everyone is a hugger and everyone is legitimately interested in how you are doing.
By interested, I mean it. If you ask someone from work or at a party how they are doing, they’ll say fine or excuse themselves to go get a drink. If you ask a Mexitalian (this is what we call Connor and Josie by the way, so for brevity, I’m combining them into one new master race J ) how they are doing, they’ll tell you. You may find yourself in a 30 minute graphic conversation about lancing a goiter. You cannot get away from their generosity and if you try to send a plate back with food on it, God help you. You better finish it, ask for more, and eat that too… and then ask to take some home with you. If you ask how to build a fence or a dock, you better expect 12 people in your back yard next weekend with tools and 13 different ideas on how to start. If you go on a hunting trip, you better not expect to eat hamburgers and salads, you either eat some obscure “delicacy” or what you shoot. And by delicacy I mean you better be willing to eat what other people throw away. And they LOVE to argue, which is where I think I feel most at home. But more than anything else they love their children. They are both beautiful cultures and I’m proud to be part of both.
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